


Encounter at Augmented Farpoint

by fresne



Series: Voyages of the Bakerstreet [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Star Trek: Kelvinverse, Star Trek: The Animated Series, Star Trek: The Next Generation, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: A/B/O, Alpha Sherlock, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Omega John Watson, Omegaverse, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-13 23:45:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15376029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fresne/pseuds/fresne
Summary: If John was going to get duty on a starship, then he needed the extra credits. As an omega, a augmented Human, all the decks were already stacked against him.He was telling that to an old... friend... lay... someone he'd hooked up with once, and was surprised to hear that there was a Professor who'd said the very same thing."Lay on Macduff."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Normally when I post fic from SDCC, it's SDCC related. But this year I'll go with something I've sent the last six months writing. If you read this as I post, no fears, it's all written. But posting will depend on time available. 
> 
> This is a Sherlock/Star Trek crossover (as you can see from the labeling) set in the Next Generation time period, but is Kelvinverse (i.e., same universe as ST: Into Darkness) but not the main continuity (i.e., it's A/B/O). Stories that are based (and that's most of them) on a specific original Trek, Next Gen, DS9, and, yes, the cartoon, will use some variation of that episode's name as the title and provide links to a wiki on the episode in the endnotes. 
> 
> It's part of over thirty linear (except where time travel applies) short stories that make up a larger narrative. Unlike some of my other A/B/O stories, it will be necessary to read if not each story, at least most of the stories to understand what's going on. It's also a completely different narrative set. So, the biology and reason for A/B/O is utterly different.
> 
> Which is to say, once upon a Star Trek time, there were only Humans like you or I (also Andorians, Vulcans, etc. but we hadn't met them yet). Then some bright eyed scientists decided to experiment with human DNA to make super soldiers. Augments like Khan Noonian Singh, who were super soldiery, and super healing, and super hearing, and super intersex. If divided into alphas and omegas in terms of who uses those reproductive bits to gestate. This is BTW flippable as needed. Not that I found a time in 260K+ of words (have I mentioned this took 6 months to write) to get to that.
> 
> Since while I love Cumberbatch, replacing a POC actor with a very white actor is not cool, I long ago decided my head canon was that Khan's a title. The various Augments who took over nation states took on the title Khan + whatever they named themselves. Cuz you know the scientists only gave them numbers. So, yes, it does mean that Ricardo Montalban's abs and Benedict Cumberbatch's abs existed in the same timeline. Please feel free to imagine them having glorious Augment super sex. 
> 
> Anyway, this story is set in the Next Generation time period, but is Kelvinverse (i.e., same universe as ST: Into Darkness) but not the main continuity (i.e., it's A/B/O). Stories that are based (and that's most of them) on a specific original Trek, Next Gen, DS9, and, yes, the cartoon, will use some variation of that episode's name as the title and provide links to a wiki on the episode in the endnotes. Although, the connection with the Original Trek episode named (I kid you not) "The Omega Glory" is tenuous at best. 
> 
> This story (as you'll note) is a relatively benign in terms of warnings. This will not be true of later stories that will figure an entire range of: dubcon, noncon, references to torture, murder, character deaths, etc. I will be knocking up John like no John Watson has been knocked up before. Although in most cases, science! the actual results of pregnancy will be shall we say delayed. Also, mpreg doesn't technically apply as the majority of the A/B/O are intersex and have both sets of reproductive organs. Although, in alphas certain bits develop more and in omega other bits. Therefore, I'll tag as ipreg and we'll see how that goes.
> 
> While I'll touch (lightly) on some things actual interex deal with (1% of the population), that's not my focus here.
> 
> It didn't really fit in with this set of stories, but that does mean that John (given the right stimuli and treatments to develop the other set of bits) could be an Alpha, and Sherlock could be an Omega. 
> 
> It takes tropes from - mostly from the original - Star Trek a grandmomy of fandoms and couples them enthusiastically with Sherlock - that hybrid child of ACD's grand old fandom.

M'Kalla was a victim.

A victim of desire.

A victim of his own decisions.

He'd been warned to stay away from John Watson, but he'd scoffed at the warnings. At the very idea that a hu-man, fragile and limited, could send him reeling. Grip him tight and shake him to his core.

They'd coupled in a place of John Watson's choosing. The Celenium Chapel's masculine assigned toilet during a performance of Human choral music. The sound had echoed around them as they copulated. 

Shattering M'Kalla.

Destroying him.

Reimagining him.

Driven as he was by the experience, he did the only thing conceivable.

He returned to the place of the murder of his former self and composed a Hhazal, a love poem. The words of which he clawed into the wall, as he had hours before scratched his fading marks into John Watson's back. It was only fitting.

He had no expectation the poem would remain.

Love was fleeting.

But M'Kalla would carry the murder of his former self with him into his new life as a poet, far away from his imagined life as a Security officer in Starfleet.

Fitting for a murder victim who had chosen his own annihilation.


	2. John POV

John lifted his head from his pillow and blinked blearily at the chrono flashing over his bed. He mumbled a plea for caffeine.

The cruel replicator remained bleakly dark.

His roommate, Bill, looked up from his pad. "I don't think it heard you." '

John swallowed around what felt like a dead tribble that had taken up residence in his throat and repeated himself. "Nu-Sumatran coffee. Hot." The replicator in the wall briefly glowed before a steaming white mug materialized. This was when John realized his tactical mistake. He'd have to get out of bed if he wanted his coffee. He shoved one bare leg out from under the covers and then the other. Lurched towards the wall.

"Christ, what happened to your back? You looked like you were mauled by a lion."

John clutched his mug and took several swallows. He maintained that replicated coffee wasn't as good as real coffee, but students begging for caffeine couldn't be choosy. He closed his eyes and held his face over the top. "Cadet M'Kalla. He's a um…" John waggled some fingers, "a Caitian."

Bill blinked. "M'Kalla, the seven foot tall felinenoid, who can bench press a shuttle. You had sex with…are humans and Caitian even compatible?"

John put three extra helpings of lascivious in his grin. "Very. He's got these things on his cock that…"

"I don't want to know." Bill sighed and put his data pad down. He started in on the lecture. The one where he said, "John, I worry about you. This kind of behavior plays into everyone's stereotypes for omega Augments."

John dropped the lascivious. He hadn't had enough caffeine for the lecture. "And what stereotypes would those be, Bill? The one where the original Augments took over the planet and started the Eugenics wars and any day now I could snap with my evil plans for galaxy domination. You know what I had to do to even get into Starfleet. It's only been in the last twenty years since Humans with any sort of Augmentation have been able to join."

"I know." Bill fidgeted with the blanket he was sitting on. "I know you're not like that. I may be from London… passed the memorial for all the personnel who died when Khan," because Normals always seemed to think Khan was a name and not a title, "had that Harewood bloke blow up that Starfleet building, but I understand that you're not to blame just because the original alphas fucked around with Normal Humans and um…" he flushed bright red.

"Made babies. Yeah, I'm an omega and on the med track. I'm aware of where Augments came from."  John felt a tired that didn't come from amazing sex. He sat back down on his bed. They'd had this conversation over and over, and yet somehow he couldn't stop himself. Kept thinking that this time he'd get through to Bill. "But Bill, because both my parents are Augments, because both of them are the full on intersex that everyone associates with Augments, Starfleet almost didn't let me in. I had to argue with the entry board for weeks that I'm not too modified and even then… I get straight As because I work hard and if I like to play hard to, what of it?"

"But that's what I'm talking about." Bill sat up straighter. "People are going to judge every Augment based your behavior."

"Oh, you mean the stereotype that omegas are sex crazy, because some scientists hundreds of years ago designed omegas to go into heat and produce high order multiples of super soldier babies so they could have the super armies they wanted faster. Too bad they also gave us ramped up immune systems that means our bodies reject... you know what forget it."

He gulped down his coffee, which per his request was hot, but he didn't care if he burned his tongue. He needed bitter and sweet in his mouth.

He'd told Bill this before, but it was worth repeating. "The reason omegas have suppressors at all is because those original omegas, you know the ones who were part of taking over the planet, invented them because they didn't want to be stuck in that cycle. Because they wanted to have some sort of control over their lives." He tapped his chest. "I'm in control. I'm on suppressants. I use condoms." No need to go into that sometimes he didn't bother on campus where the students were given health checks every few weeks. "I'm on birth control." Admittedly the progesterone-only pill instead of the estrogen and progestin pill, because that affected omegas' scents and therefore John's chances of getting laid by an alpha, but that didn't matter. Really the suppressant was doing all the work. No heat, no chance of ovulation. And Normal prejudices aside, many of the side effects of the original Augmentations were it was difficult for Augments to get pregnant.

"John, you've told me all this. But you have to know that you need to be a model student or you won't get an assignment to a starship. You'll be assigned to a base somewhere. Or worse. You know the rates for that Augments leaving Starfleet. The entry board let you in because they had to or…"

"They wouldn't look Federation enough," finished John bitterly. "I know. But I'm going to be so good, they'll want to promote me after my first five year mission."

"I'm just saying you've got to be careful. You're being judged by a different standard. It's not fair, but it's there."

Which was about the point in the conversation where John was done. Just done.

Also, he wanted real coffee. Which meant either coming up with the social credits, because a body had to give real to get real, or head to the Augment Society on campus.

John ordered a fresh uniform from the replicator and quickly dressed. Ordinarily, he'd have asked Bill to auto suture the scratches on his back, but he just didn't want to hear more of the same lecture. His fucking Augmented healing would just have to fucking deal. He shoved on the gold ring his Mum had given him when he'd decided on his gender, right next to his twin, Harry's, gold ring. "Gotta go or I'll be late for class."

He headed straight for the community room where Aug Soc set up shop. There were plenty of other societies on campus. Either based on race like the Vulcans or Andorians, or interests like theater or weaving or whatever. It had taken a lot – a lot – of efforts by the first Augments in Starfleet to get Starfleet to sponsor a society for Augments, since they were technically human, but then they must have been very persistent to get into Starfleet in the first place.

As soon as in he was in the door, he breathed in the rich, heady scent of really real coffee. Ground and brewed with love and attention. Course, it came with an already raging argument between Lucy Hebron, a fourth year omega like John, and a first year alpha that John didn't recognize. They were arguing over whether or not Dr. Julian Bashir, who'd graduated just as John was coming into the academy, counted as an Augment or not. A common source of agro in the Aug Soc.

First Year, sporting a silver and gold banded ring on their aggressively flailing hands, was arguing that Bashir wasn't an Augment because Bashir's family had had their kid modified post-facto, rather than being an Augment like themselves. Descended from those original Eugenics experiments.

John counted backwards as he poured himself some Italian roasted Falcon Zambica. Five. Four. Three. Two. One.

Lucy said, "That kind of thinking just leads to Augment erasure! Deciding this or that person isn't Augment enough, when we're all experiencing some form of systemic oppression."

"Oh, come on. He could totally pass as a Normal," said First Year.

And got the fierce reply, "There are plenty of Augments who are not intersex. They're still Augment. Still have Augmented chromosomes."

"From one of the original nation states," argued First Year like a prat. "I'm just saying if your DNA isn't mostly based on those original experiments in the U.S.S.R, and whatever it was each nation state decided they wanted to try for their version of a super soldier, you're not an Augment."

"So, you're saying you get to decide if someone is an Augment or not. How much Augment is enough?"

"Come on, we all had to take a DNA test to get in. I mean, I'm not saying you have to know which Khan's followers your ancestors were, because most Augments don't know. What with all the anti-Augment sentiment during WWIII."

"You mean slavery and out right attempts to commit genocide."

John would have thought that First Year would have picked up on how seriously Lucy took honoring her DNA. It would take one look at her elaborately braided hair or the ochre clay rubbed into her braids and skin. She'd even supplemented her silver ring declaring her gender with a wide silver bracelet decorated in Himba designs. One of the main tribes the South African scientists had used creating their variation on Augments.

Instead First Year said, "Yeah, that's real erasure."

John sipped his coffee and had to wonder if First Year was going to survive to second year.

First Year kept going. "Over a certain percentage Augmentation and it's a bitch and a half to get in."

"A bitch and a half!" said Lucy dangerously. "That's how they try and eliminate us. It's like the Native Americans in the old United States."

"Or like Colonel Green wanting to eliminate any human with even one single drop of Augment blood."

John decided to rescue First Year, because if there was one historical person not to mention to Lucy, it was Colonel Green. He said, "Hey, Lucy. Were you the one who brought in the Falcon Zambica?"

Lucy turned. "Oh, hey John. I didn't see you come in. Yeah, my aunt sent it." She turned back and smiled evilly. "This is John Watson."

First Year squeaked. "John Watson. You're John Watson. The John Watson."

John sighed. "Don't believe the rumors, kid." As it was, it was getting hard to get a leg over on campus.

"So, you haven't had sex with most of the Augments on campus, had a three and half way with an Orion and a Joined Trill, have multiple odes to you written on the walls of both toilets of the Celenium chapel. Didn't have an affair with a Professor in your second year."

John grimaced. "Ugh… it wasn't an affair. It was one time. Professor Sholto seemed nice, and I never took a class with him, but let me tell you," he sipped his coffee, "Normals get strange about having sex with Augments, particularly when they're intersex."

He held up a hand to hold off Lucy's indrawn outrage. "He wanted to meet my parents after we did it once kind of strange. I mean, yeah, I've got a cock and a cunt, but that's not 'that' unusual."

"I…I… I have a um…. penis and um…vagina," said First Year.

John looked them over. First Year was peach fuzz young. Too fuzzy for John. "Good for you." He took another sip of coffee. "Look, it's different away from Earth. There, you'll be a Human among other species. Here, well…"

"There's no Boothby for students like us," said Lucy.

"Yeah, what I'm trying to say is try not to annoy the other Augments." He winked at First Year, who squeaked again. John poured himself some more delicious coffee and left before First Year asked him out or fainted.

He found a quiet spot to sit and enjoy his brew in Selfridge Hall, when a friendly voice said, "John Watson, is that you?"

He turned around. A vaguely familiar Human was grinning at him. A Normal. Soft round face and body. John had that all too familiar feeling that he'd shagged the guy, but could not place his name. He sipped his coffee, but the extra shot of caffeine failed to deliver more than the realization that this was the guy who'd written a poem to John's sex drive in the third stall of the Celenium Chapel after they'd had adequate sex in that stall. "Yes. I am me." A safe statement.

Celenium Chapel Guy said, "Last I heard, you were planning on taking the pre-med track. How'd that work out?"

John shrugged. "I'm a year out from finishing basic and then I'm on to do another two years of med school before I can go out into space and patch up people getting shot." Another sip of coffee. Still no name came to mind. Although, a memory of the feeling of the tile against his face was getting clearer. John applied more coffee to the problem.

"I've got to say, you look like something the cat dragged in."

John choked on his coffee, spraying black liquid down his front. A great look on him, he was sure.

Celenium Toilet Guy patted his back, unfortunately touching at least three scratch marks where M'Kalla had gouged him. John drew in a breath. Celenium Toilet Guy asked, "Are you okay?"

"Sorry, private joke. You just… never mind." John ordered a sonic cleaner from the replicator and gave himself a quick once over. "So, how have you been?"

Celenium Toilet guy launched into a speech about his invertebrate biology classes and wrapped up by talking about how his academic adviser had been urging him to apply for a teaching assistant position to improve his chances at being assigned shipboard duty. He'd just found a position assisting Professor Ch'qokreth with his classes.

John groaned. "I've been trying to get one in my field, for the same reason, but," he waved at himself, "who'd have me." Not that he'd have much chance even then, but still, into the breech and all that.

Now it was Celenium Toilet Guy's turn to choke. "You're the second person to say that to me today. The first was a professor." He glanced at the ground and flushed slightly. "And for a similar reason. He's a… um… alpha. He was the Second Officer on the Intrepid, I think. Transferred in a bit of a hush, hush. Teaching Exobio and Chemistry now. Brilliant. Bit odd, but brilliant."

John met his gaze steadily. John had gotten first rate marks in Exobio when he'd taken it the previous year. John could handle working with an alpha. After all, almost all of the performers in his parent's theater company were some form of Augument or another. "Lay on MacDuff." John winked at Celenium Toilet Guy, who flushed a deeper red.

"I'm seeing someone now, but anything to help."

They chatted amiably as they crossed campus. They went into a lab in T'Kau Hall. The alpha's back was to them as they wrote on a Holo board. John froze just inside the room as the alpha's scent reached him and said hello.

His scent was… He was… Mouthwatering.

The alpha turned.

High cheekbones. Gorgeous lips. Curling black hair. Sex on long legs turned around. The whole package, and their uniform made it clear that their package was nice.

Very nice.

John's eyes flicked down. A thin gold band on his left ring finger. Male. Alpha. Unattached.

His green or maybe blue eyes – John couldn't tell – it felt like he was getting scanned. He could feel the force of it in his nipples and cock and cunt. Pretty much all the parts.

The alpha didn't puff his chest or stand up straighter or any of the other behaviors that alphas instinctively did to demonstrate their viability as a mate. "Mr. Stamford, can I borrow your communicator?" His voice was coffee grown on the sides of plunging mountains. His voice was whiskey that had been slowly been aging in sherry barrels and half way sucked down by angels. His voice was angels fucking each other in whiskey barrels that were about to plunge off the side of a steep mountain into a volcano.

Stamford, Celenium Toilet Guy's name was Stamford, shrugged. "Sorry, Professor Holmes, I forgot to put it on this morning."

John plucked his communicator off and held it out to Professor Holmes. Their fingers brushed as the small gold device changed hands. Professor Holmes had gorgeous large hands with long fingers, which led John to once again confirming the very nice package. Professor Holmes fiddled with it briefly, his eyes never leaving John's. "You've been testing species compatibility. Was it a Caitian or a Kzinti?"

"Caitian," John licked his lips, "but how did you guess?"

"I never guess." Professor Holmes tugged a hand in those tumbling curls. "Most see, but don't observe. I deduce based on my observations. Also, I don't like to repeat myself. I will expect you to do all of the grading. All of it! Paperwork is boring. Sometimes I will expect complete silence in my office. You should know what you're getting into if you agree to be my teaching assistant."

John shot a look at Stamford. Without a communicator there was no way for Stamford to have let Professor Holmes know they were coming. He looked back at Professor Holmes. "But, how did you know?"

"Your uniform and communicator indicate that you're a fourth year. The faint odor of beeswax lotion favored by the medical cadets indicates your focus of study. Anyone who wants ship duty straight out of the academy must complete at least eight extra credits beyond their normal coursework if they want to be considered, and as an omega you are already under a deficit for being assigned ship duty. Since I was just remarking to Mr. Stamford and Professor Ch'qokreth about my difficulties finding a T.A., you must be here seeking just such an introduction. As to the other deduction," he leaned forward, his warm breath caressing John's ear, "feline musk is very distinctive, and the way you're standing very clearly indicates how and where you were scratched."

John shuddered. He tilted his head to the side, baring this neck to the alpha, an instinctive reaction to let him know that John was impressed, even as he whispered. "Amazing."

Professor Holmes pulled back quickly. He tossed the communicator back to John. "You deal with the paperwork."

He was out the door before John had a chance to refasten his communicator.

John looked at Mike, who shrugged. "Yeah, he's always like that."

John let out the breath he was holding and went to go handle some paperwork.

The entire time thinking, planning, bargaining with himself as to how he could get a piece of that.

Professor Holmes was a professor, but that didn't put him entirely out of the range of possibility.

Admittedly, hooking up with Professor Sholto had been a huge mistake.

Since Professor Holmes was an alpha, he'd most likely also be intersex. Also have a nice little cunt and a cock – and John bet it was a big thick cock – the thought made him wet thinking about it. Sex would be easy as falling into bed and Professor Holmes plunging his big monster cock into John's wet needy… John told himself to focus.

Alphas could get strange and possessive. He wanted to fuck Professor Holmes, but he was in Starfleet to become a doctor. Not to find a spouse. But maybe if he laid out some ground rules. If John spent the semester working his best moves. The backrub bit definitely. Mention a few times that he'd been thinking of going off suppressors – although certainly not the birth control – for winter break. Lay some ground rules for no babies – no meeting the parents – no consequences. Just three brilliant days of fucking constantly. With a scent as alpha as that, Professor Holmes just might be able to keep up with John.

Although, seriously all this would have to be the down low. Starfleet would love an excuse to throw either of them out.

Also, Bill would never let him hear the end of it otherwise.


	3. Other POV

Henry Peters was to put it bluntly, well and truly fucked.

Not just a little fucked.

Utterly buggered.

He owed the Ferengi Companionship Consortium more than his body weight in gold pressed latinum.

It was the governments fault that he didn't understand credits. Money. When all the basics were taken care of, that left the pleasures in life. The wealthy ass good things. The sort of crap that the Feddy officials thought a body shouldn't or didn't need and the Ferengi made a body pay for.

It was more than a little risky paying his debt at the port of San Francisco. But the quality of bodies he could sign up were the only way he could stay current on the interest.

He smiled at a pretty omega visiting from London and invited her to explore the pleasures of the wharf. Talked up the wonders of the consortium. Couldn't talk her into signing the contract on the dotted line. Lady Frances buggered off, which left Peters buggered.

Henry would be fine. He'd sign the papers himself for the next omega if he had to and he'd be fine.

Still fucked, but fine.


	4. Sherlock POV

Sherlock didn't need to prove anything. He'd proved himself when he'd successfully managed to pass his parents' little test by bypassing his home's security and leaving. When he'd created an identity for himself to explore the greater galaxy. When he'd managed to convince the entry board to let him into the academy and destroyed any grading curve they'd ever had. Admittedly, he'd then been sidelined into a research facility where he'd spent nearly a decade having his research into the mysteries of the galaxy ignored. Then there was his brief – idiots – time as a second officer.

So here he was, teaching.

The end of the road in Starfleet.

Which was fine. There was access to decent labs again. Research opportunities. He'd found ample time to build prototypes now that he had a T.A.

And in that T.A., Sherlock had yet another opportunity, not that he needed it, to prove that he was not an animal. That he possessed self-control. He was a thinking machine. His body was nothing but transport. Transport! That he was above all the things mummy and his fathers had warned him about.

Mr. Watson's scent wafted into Sherlock's office. Warm and inviting, which meant that like most sexually active Augment Inferior, he'd chosen to take progestin as his Starfleet prescribed birth control. Although, all birth control variants had been designed for Betas and not Augments.

Synthetic estrogen that suppressed the production of ovum, would have resulted in a decrease in Mr. Watson's nubile, fecund, utterly delicious scent. While progestin would form a layer of mucus that would make it difficult for sperm to penetrate the cervix, make it difficult for a fertilized ovum to attach to the luscious cell wall of his elastic uterus, already thicker as a result of various his Augmentations.

All of which Sherlock was only thinking about for scientific reasons.

Entirely scientific.

Mr. Watson came into Sherlock's office. "I've finished grading the responses to yesterday's quiz. Was there anything else you needed?"

The image of bending Mr. Watson over his desk and thrusting into that warm inviting scent appeared unbidden. Withdrawing to cum on his back to obliterate the scent of the Beta version of humanity that Mr. Watson had coupled with the previous evening with his own scent. Biting Mr. Watson's neck to mark and claim him. Coming inside Mr. Watson until his belly distended as an early indicator of how fully Sherlock had bred him. Opening the flies to Mr. Watson's uniform and requesting, no requiring, that Mr. Watson allow him to perform fellatio. Curling with him on the window seat in his quarters and inhaling his every breath.

Mr. Watson's pupils dilated slightly at the sudden shift in Sherlock's scent. Clear betrayers of his thoughts.

Science.

Scientific.

Sherlock breathed in sharply, which was dangerous.

That's why he did it. He was not an animal. Everything he'd done with his life proved it. Science. Deduce. "You have at least eight Augment ancestors. From the Britannic, Indic, and North American nation states." Like his own genomic variation. If, most certainly, not in the same way.

Mr. Watson licked his lips with a pink tongue. Came further into the room. "Amazing, but how did you know? I only know because I took one of those DNA tests when I was a teen. My twin, Harry, and I got tired of Dad always telling us that he didn't know anything about our Augment heritage on his side. He went absolutely spare after we did it. Told us he didn't want us to pick up Earth prejudices and think our DNA defines us, and to absolutely stop right there."

He looked up and to the right. _Indication he was reliving some old memory. Glancing back as he came out of the thought._

"Course, there was the one they make us take when we join Starfleet, but it said pretty much the same thing. My Y-chromosomes show I've got some North American in me." His lips were wet and in no way distracting. His breathing was a little bit faster. Heart rate elevated. "My mitochondrial DNA shows I've got some Indic somewhere in Mum's family tree."

Sherlock steepled his hands. How he knew was irrelevant. He wanted to know what Mr. Watson knew of himself and how. He wanted to understand. "And the Brittanic?"

Mr. Watson grinned. _His face transformed. Muscles relaxing around his eyes and mouth. He sat down in his chair. His heart rate dropped._ "Mum has all these amazing family stories about our ancestors." _Positive thoughts in association with family._ "There was the Lady of the Flowers, who was in the Augment resistance. She saved all sorts of Augments from Colonel Green's death camps. Saved other Humans outside the Normal," he moved his fingers in an approximation of quotation marks, "human spectrum too. Then there was her lover, the Analyst. No idea who came up their code names by the by, who was some sort of a genius, who helped her stay one step ahead of Colonel Green and the North American slavers. Mum's father, my grandfather, wrote a play about it. It was one of my favorites growing up."

_Another piece of evidence regarding Mr. Watson's childhood. Most likely a family run Theater Company, which travelled from planet to planet on one of the tier two or three circuits._

_Sherlock had no idea why anyone would waste their time with actors when there were perfectly programmable holodecks. He'd save those observations for later._

_Mr. Watson's gaze was very direct. Very blue. Earth sky blue. No instincts for prevarication._

"Got any family stories you can tell? Maybe our ancestors met. Were in the Augment resistance together." He gave Sherlock what might only be described as a cheeky wink.

"Unlikely," said Sherlock.

"I… umm… so what are your um… genomics? Maybe we're um… compatible." _Slight forward shrug of Mr. Watson's shoulders while simultaneously biting his lower lip. Required further analysis._

 _Ridiculous. Humans in general were compatible. Augments less so. That was the problem, Mummy's rants aside._ "Brittanic, Indic, and North American," said Sherlock crisply. _That should end the discussion._

"Nice," said Mr. Watson. "Same as mine. Very nice." He licked his already wet lips again. _Oral fixation. Sherlock should arrange to have a variety of small items for Mr. Watson to consume during these meetings._ Mr. Watson blinked. "But, how do you know about me? After about four generations, the chromosomes get too mixed for DNA testing to tell more than something about the Y and mitochondrial, and Augmentation percentiles from the Normal population." He leaned forward. "I'm in the seventy-fifth percentile myself."

Sherlock chose to interpret Mr. Watson's question in the manner most advantageous to himself. He tossed several small objects at Mr. Watson, who as per previous observation, caught them all easily. "Throw them in that bin." Mr. Watson did so with perfect accuracy, of course. "I've observed your hand eye coordination on multiple occasions. You may have noticed that I am teaching classes on Exo-biology and Biology. I am familiar moderately familiar with the various focuses that each of the nation states attempted to engender in their super solider programs." An understatement.

Mr. Watson laughed. _Lighting candles all throughout Sherlock's memory palace_. "Amazing. Most Augments get," he raised his eyebrows, "discouraged from any sort of genetics adjacent course of study. I got all sorts of pushback when I said I wanted to be a doctor."

Sherlock kept going, hungry for more praise. Intellectual, of course. "Fragmentary information for what we have about the North American Augmentation program was that they had a particular emphasis on hand eye augmentation and an obsession with shooting projectile weapons accurately." He leaned forward and breathed in again. Intoxicating. Delicious. The ORB-1 receptors in his olfactory system processing all the minute details. "Elements of increased couplins levels, which have a distinctive scent: star jasmine, wisteria, caramel, brown sugar," closed his eyes rolling the flavors around, "with a hint of vanilla." He opened his eyes.

"Yeah," Mr. Watson's wet lips rubbed against each other. "I have been told I smell nice. Particularly," another slick rub of the lips, "the few times I've gone off suppressants."

Sherlock waved that last fact off as irrelevant. With the general availability of suppressants Mr. Watson would not be going into heat any time soon. "British geneticists wanted to create super-spies rather than super soldiers. Thus they emphasized traits that would make their agents desirable for," he swept his gaze over the totality of Mr. Watson, "infiltration."

A small hitch of Mr. Watson's breathe. "Yeah, 007 all the way." A comment in code that Sherlock filed away for later. "And the Indic?"

Sherlock swallowed. "Your," he coughed, "movements. I've observed a certain elasticity to your movements. Indic geneticists were interested in breeding fast maneuverable elite soldiers, who could perform a number of forms of martial arts."

"Yeah..." The pink tip of Mr. Watson's tongue on his upper teeth. "I'm really flexible. Really. Really flexible." This last was a sigh. Mr. Watson took another step into the room. "So," and strangely long stress upon the 'oh' "was there anything else I could do for you, Professor Holmes?"

Out of Mr. Watson's line of sight, Sherlock gripped the arms of chair. He reminded himself that he was a thinking machine and his body was mere transport. Any other impulses were to be removed. "No, nothing." Sherlock looked down at his pad and pretended to read it until Mr. Watson left. He listened to his footsteps retreat down the hall and his scent faded.

_"Excellent," he told the door to his memory palace. "I have passed another test."_

After a moment, he decided that this allowed for a certain amount of reward. He sprayed himself with a certain compound that he had been experimenting with. The mixture from the previous evening had not been quite right. This version should entirely mask his scent. He ordered a cloak from the replicator and put it on.

He didn't follow Mr. Watson's fading scent. He didn't need to. He'd been following him for weeks after all and the cadet was none the wiser.

Purely for the practice, of course.

He went to the bar by the space dock that Mr. Watson liked to frequent. It catered to Augments and those segments of the Federation desirous of coupling with them. He sat in the shadows and ordered a drink. He was forced to drive off not one but two Licensed Sexual Artists. "I am not interested."

The first one left quickly in pursuit of clientele likely to promote her reputation. The second one was more persistent. "I'm an amazing artist. I can do things you've never even imagined. Give you the best ride of your life that'll have you coming like a starship into port. I can show you my references."

"I dislike repeating myself." He bared his teeth, which was a barbaric display, but necessary.

"Your loss." The LSA flipped his hair over his shoulder and went to find more welcoming custom willing to increase his social credits.

Mr. Watson arrived as expected. He went directly to the bar and began speaking with a slender alpha sitting by herself. Sherlock tapped on his communicator and sent a low subsonic growl, his own growl as it happened, through Mr. Watson's communicator. The alpha looked startled and glanced around. Abandoning her seat and Mr. Watson.

Sherlock smiled. He'd used that trick to excellent effect on several evenings.

Mr. Watson was not to be deterred. The omega was insatiable it seemed. He leaned back against the bar, his pelvis slightly pushed forward in clear invitation. A hulking Klingon approached Mr. Watson. He wouldn't be driven off by a growl. The opposite in fact.

Excellent. Sherlock spritzed an additional application of the scent masker to his wrists while rubbing both wrists together. This produced a particularly acrid odor. He approached the bar where the Klingon was going on about his obviously over inflated prowess in bed. Sherlock reached across Mr. Watson as if to make an order to the bartender. He brushed against Mr. Watson as he did so with his wrist. This was why the scent masker had to be perfect.

As he withdrew, the Klingon breathed in sharply, shouted something about his mother, and left Mr. Watson standing with his mouth agape.  Sherlock smiled from within his cloak.

He was successful at driving off three other claimants.

However, he looked away at the wrong moment, only to look back and see Mr. Watson rather efficiently towing yet another Beta Human out the back door of the bar.

Sherlock sighed and circled around the building. The building walls had sufficient cracks and crumbling stone for him to climb up the side of the rather disgusting edifice and watch from above. Every instinct within him urged him to let go. To pummel Mr. Watson's uninspired choice until he was nothing but a bloody spot. Then to take that Beta's place. Rip Mr. Watson's uniform to shreds. Pin him. Thrust into him until he'd satiated the insatiable.

An urge he'd successfully resisted on multiple occasions.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, that was when two disreputable looking Ferengi – typical in this sort of setting – appeared out of the shadows. "Idiot," Sherlock muttered to himself. He should have seen that the Beta was a decoy meant to lure omegas outside. _The tattoo on the left side of his neck, the pattern of wear on his leather vest, the type of earing he wore in his left ear, all indicators of a member of criminal organization participating in sex trafficking. Not to mention the hypospray he was currently preparing to press against Mr. Watson's neck._

Sherlock dropped to the ground, just as Mr. Watson realized his situation.

Really, Sherlock had no idea why the Humans of Earth had developed the stereotype that omegas were docile.  They'd been engineered from lifeforms, who actively engaged in the hunt.

Mr. Watson demonstrated his heritage by smoothly twisting the Beta's right arm behind his back, caught the hypospray as it fell from the Beta's enervated hand, and injected it into the Beta, who dropped to the ground. The Beta's heart rate stuttered. Whatever the Beta had intended to inject Mr. Watson with, he hadn't calculated the right amount.

Sherlock threw a Ferengi wearing – _Calacian Consortium head covering_ – into a wall with a hard crack. Heart stopped.  

The other Ferengi raised a disruptor. "More profits for me."

There was a sudden pain in Sherlock's back, as a knife slid between his fourth and fifth ribs. Beta Human. He twisted around. Flipped his attacker over his shoulder. The snap of a spine. Wet thunk of a body on the ground.

"More and more profits for me." The Ferengi was still laughing, focused entirely on Sherlock, as Mr. Watson plucked the disruptor from the dead Ferengi. He didn't hesitate. Smoothly firing from a crouched position.

He hit his target as his ancestors had been designed to do.

Sherlock looked around the alley. Three corpses and an unconscious man. Self-defense, perhaps, but there would be an inquiry. The information that he'd provided to gain entry into Starfleet was excellent, but he wasn't certain that it would survive a murder investigation. He opened his mouth to say something, anything.

Mr. Watson changed a setting on the disruptor. Fired once, twice, three times. The bodies disappeared in a shower of golden sparkles. Disintegrated. He looked up at Sherlock. Seeming to meet his gaze, even though Sherlock's face was in shadow. Then calmly, Mr. Watson fired on the unconscious Beta. Disintegrating him. Mr. Watson said, "Do we have a problem?"

Sherlock shook his head. Not trusting his ability to speak at this calm display of casual murder. Flushed beneath his hood as a loud rumble of approval rolled out of his chest, unasked for, feral and animalistic. Transport, Sherlock reminded himself. His body was merely transport.

Mr. Watson came closer, still holding the disrupter. "You're hurt. Let me help. I'm practically a doctor." He put his left hand on Sherlock's, which was just too much.

Sherlock lifted Mr. Watson off his feet with one hand. Pressed him back against the filthy ally wall. Held him there with the press of his body. Devoured his lips in the shadows. Both of them moaning. Panting. Breathing was boring. The only breath he wanted was from Mr. Watson's mouth. Until Mr. Watson twisted his head, baring his neck for Sherlock's teeth, which scraped and bit at the salty pheromone rich flesh above Mr. Watson's scent gland. He bit down. Marking him.

Mr. Watson groaned, "Oh, fuck yeah."

Thought struggled sluggishly to the surface, even as Mr. Watson lifted his legs to wrap them around Sherlock's torso. His secondary sexual organs wet and slick under the fabric of his uniform. Sherlock rutted against him. His member trapped in twisting robes and his own uniform.

He'd have to let go of Mr. Watson in order to rip both of their clothes off. To do that, he would have to reveal who he was.

That was not the act of a thinking machine. It was the grit in the machine.

He pushed Mr. Watson off him and whirled away. He was on the top of the next building before Mr. Watson had regained his footing. Mr. Watson's loud, "Fuck!" was clearly audible, but Sherlock didn't dare return.

Sherlock had to do something quickly or Mr. Watson might simply return to the bar in search of a new partner, or worse return to the academy, and select someone from the rich hunting grounds there. There was bound to be someone awake in the library. An all-night café. The Celenium Chapel with its ever present on-going choir practice and liberally used toilets.

Sherlock accessed a remote panel and logged into his academy account. He credited his excellent T.A. an additional hour of holosuite time as a well-earned reward for all his hard work. He waited to see if Mr. Watson would take the bait.

Mr. Watson reacted to the ping on his account. He waited and watched. Mr. Watson's shoulders squared and Sherlock smiled. This was fine. Really the best of all options.

He followed from a distance as Mr. Watson made the trip back to campus. Obviously Mr. Watson would engage in a sexual encounter in the holosuite. The students and personnel often used their allocated one hour a week to play out sexual scenarios.

Not Sherlock, of course, his body was merely transport.

He grinned to himself and bounced slightly. Really, this solution was perfect.

Mr. Watson's time in the holosuite would leave no scent markers on his skin. Had been made possible by Sherlock.

That was good. He liked that idea. He would have to see how many hours he could reward Mr. Watson with. He would also have to check to see if Mr. Watson remembered to clear the cache on the holosuite's memory.

He had a purely intellectual curiosity as to Mr. Watson's choice of encounter.

He checked the wound on his back. As expected, it was almost healed. He watched Mr. Watson go into the holosuite in April Tower. He settled down to wait.


	5. Other POV

The maintenance staff for the holosuites had it easy.

It wasn't that all the students didn't use the holosuites for porn 24x7. After all hard light that could assume any shape or form. That was just asking for porn.

One button push and the units cleaned themselves down to the molecular level.

Though, Kenny sometimes wondered about the programs. Did they live between cycles? Have their own existence outside of hard light? Dream of electric sheep.

He pushed the button and dealt with the mess.


	6. John POV

John was horny. No, he was beyond horny. He was frustrated. Cock blocked.

He'd almost been kidnapped. He'd known better than to go with a stranger into an unknown location. His parents had raised him better. He hadn't grown up sheltered. He'd traveled. He knew how the universe worked. The dangers to someone like himself. The price that some species put on owning someone like himself. Turning him from a person into an animal. Into a thing.

He just hadn't thought it would be like that so close to Starfleet academy. On Earth.

If it hadn't been for that stranger, he would have been kidnapped. He would have been drugged and on his way to Ferenginar, Orion, or who knew where.

That frustrating stranger, who hadn't flinched when John killed a sentient being. He was going to be a doctor. He should feel guilty. He didn't. He felt guilty that he didn't guilty mostly. He was going to be a soldier too. Covering up after should make him feel guilty too.

He knew who would have been blamed if there was an investigation. His life as much as his career would have been over before it started.

Now, like some sort of weird signal from the universe, he had a reward for an extra hour in the holosuite from the original source of his frustration.

He'd been certain that Professor Holmes was going to make a move. The sharp musk of his scent. The way his lips had parted just a little when John asked if he needed anything else.

Sure, he was currently reporting to Professor Holmes. John should wait.

He didn't want to. He wanted to have sex with him now. Hours ago and ready for round two.

One of the reasons he'd been going out night after a night.

Fuck, it had been years since he'd used his holosuite time for sex. He tended to associate it with his two unfortunate years at Magdelene's School for omegas and the cribbed plugin for the school holosuite that all the students had passed around.

But seriously, he had to do something to take the edge off and at this time of night the only people up were students who really did need to finish their work by tomorrow. He selected a standard university setting and added the plugin that turned it into Naughty Student Gets Knotted. Licked his lips and opted to reskin the characters from the default setting. Theoretically it was against Starfleet policy to download images of existing personnel in the holosuites, but everyone did it. Technically, the plugin wasn't entirely in line with the Starfleet acceptable use policy either.

He went inside. Ordered a plebes uniform from the ensuite replicator and changed. Replicated a scent emitter and put it by the door. "Start program."

The holosuite updated to a lecture hall. It was full of students. There was one empty seat at the front of the class. He sat down in it. Professor Holmes had his back to the class. He was writing on a holo board.

The scent emitter puffed. It wasn't quite right for Professor Holmes' unique scent, or really any alpha, but it was close enough. It would have to do. It would be worse if there were no scent. Might as well go back to his quarters.

A chrono chimed to indicate that the class was over. The other students filed out of the room. Professor Homes said, "Mr. Watson, stay behind."

John waited.

Professor Homes paced in front of him. "Do you think coming in at the end of class is appropriate?"

"No, sir." He tried to suppress his excitement.

"Make a visual display of Mr. Watson's last essay." A page displayed on the holoboard. It was practically dripping with red marks. "Your work is sloppy and full of errors. Tell me why I shouldn't fail you right now?"

"Please, sir," said John warming to his role. He got on his knees. "I'll do anything."

"I'm sure you will. Don't think I haven't observed how you flirt with the other students."

John's heart skipped a beat at the words in Professor Holmes' deep rich voice. He could feel his pants growing damp. "Computer, allow hair pulling and spanking."

The room blinked and a woman's voice said, "Program updated."

Professor Holmes reached down and threaded his fingers in John's hair. Twisted. Pulling his head to the side. That little bit of pain mixed with pleasure that was so good. Whispered next to John's face. His breath was warm on John's cheek, which was surprising. "Don't think I didn't see the captain of the Lacross team fucking you in the library stacks last night when you should have been studying."

That was a lovely spin on the jealousy setting. John repeated, "Please, sir. I'll do anything."

"I sure you will. You little slut. A cock whore like yourself. I can already…"

"Freeze program." John pinched his eyes. This was what he got for simply reskinning an existing plugin, but he didn't have the skills to design his own. "Look. I'm not sure who programmed this, but prejudices against prostitution are antiquated. There's nothing wrong with being a Licensed Sexual Artist. My cousin Maurice is a LSA. Personalized craft with individual care. That's how he was invited to perform on Risa." He rubbed his wrists where that fucker from earlier had grabbed him. "And individuals forced into sexual trafficking certainly aren't at fault. And don't get me started on the word slut. That's just shaming people who are sex positive." He stopped himself. He was lecturing a machine and wasting precious time. "Computer, don't use the word whore." He thought about it for a moment. "Program, leave the word slut."

"Program updated," said the remote woman's voice.

"Program reengage fifteen seconds back," said John.

Professor Homes' fingers in his hair twisted further, "I can already smell your arousal."

"Please, sir, what can I do?"

"Get under the desk."

John scrambled under the wide oak desk at the front of the room. There was just enough room for him to fit. He supposed the program had taken his size into account when framing the scenario. Professor Holmes sat down. He spread his legs and pulled a cock within average for alpha norms – John really hoped he'd be getting more than that when he finally pinned the Professor down – out of his flies. "If you manage to do a good job, I will consider allowing you to remain in my class."

John took Professor Holmes' cock in his mouth. He licked and sucked. "Quiet now," rumbled Professor Holmes just as footsteps entered the room. Even knowing it wasn't real, John felt himself freeze. Professor Holmes reached down under the desk and pressed John's head down in an unmistakable way while talking with a man about a problem with one of his students. "Nothing I can't handle."

"I'm sure," said the man's voice.

John quietly licked and sucked at the head of Professor Holmes cock, enjoying falling into the fantasy of being inches away from discovery.  

When the visitor left, Sherlock said, "Very good. You can come out now."

John pulled himself out from under the desk.

"Strip."

John took off his uniform. The room was actually little cold. There was a slight draft from the open door. He could hear people talking outside. "Should I close the door, sir?"

"Why? You like to fuck in public places, you cock slut?"

"Actually Computer, I changed my mind. Stop using the word slut. Oh, and make him approving that I am confident in my own sexuality."

The room blinked and the woman's voice said, "Scenario updated."

"I haven't been able to stop thinking about this since I saw you, fucking in public when you should have been studying. I wanted you." The scent emitter shifted in response to the key phrase. Became sharper. Muskier. "Seeing how confident you were. Free. But," fingers gripped and tugged on his hair again, "you cannot neglect your work like that."

"I'm sorry, sir. I'll do better. Is there anything I do to improve my grade?"

"Bend over the desk. Display of Mr. Watson's sloppy and completely inaccurate work for him." The surface of the desk updated with the paper from before. It really was terribly written. It was exactly the sort of thing that Professor Holmes complained about.

John bent over the paper, bracing his forearms on desk. "Read out it aloud." John began to read and almost immediately stopped as a wide broad hand smacked his bare buttocks. The force of the blow pushed him forward. "I didn't say you could stop."

John resumed reading. At each error on the page, there was another blow. He could also hear Professor Holmes wanking behind him. When he'd reached the end of the five page paper, he rested his forehead on the desk. "Thank you, sir for pointing out where I was wrong."

With that Professor Holmes came on John's bare back. Warm and thick. Professor Holmes rubbed it into his skin. "Now you smell like me."

Actually, it didn't smell like anything, other than what was emitting from the emitter, but John could pretend.  "Thank you, sir."

"Turn around and sit on the edge of the desk."

John's mouth watered. He did as he was told. Professor Holmes was hard again. Obviously, refractory periods weren't an issue for holograms. Professor Holmes wrapped one hand around John's cock while rubbing his little finger across John's clit just below it. "You've been such a good boy. So hot and wet for me. Doing such a good job reading your paper. Keeping quiet while the Dean was here."

"Thank you, sir."

 Professor Holmes' little finger moved back and forth. "I think you deserve a chance at some extra credit."

"Please, sir, I need extra credit." He shifted his hips. "I really need it."

"I'm sure." Professor Holmes pushed that perfectly lovely cock into him and it just took the edge right off. The quiet room. The voices just outside. The alpha-ish scent. The hard cock moving inside him. The growing knot pushing so good against just the right spots. The Professor groaned. "You're so good at fucking where you shouldn't. So, hot and wet."

"Thank you, sir."

Professor Holmes really started to pound into him then. Faster and faster. His knot growing larger. Until finally, with a muffled hiss, Professor Holmes pushed inside a final time, his knot expanding to lock them together. Obviously, a hologram couldn't actually come, but the knot triggered his own release. He couldn't stop a shout.

Faces clustered in the door. "Now look what you've done," said Professor Holmes. "Been caught fucking your Professor in public. So good at it. So hot. Show them how it's done." John came again. His internal muscles squeezing around the cock stretching him.

The crowd clapped, which kind of threw John out of the moment.

"Definitely grade A+ work, Mr. Watson," whispered Professor Holmes against his ear.

Unfortunately, that's when the hour was up. The room blinked. John was sitting in a chair in an empty black room full of yellow lines. "Do you need a moment to recover?" asked the woman's voice.

"Fuck," said John. "You couldn't let him stay there."

"The average length of time that an alpha knots an omega is twenty minutes. Your hour is up. If you have additional time, I can restart the program at the same location. Do you have additional time?"

John snorted and wished he hadn't spent his weekly hour parasailing with Bill earlier that week. "No." He got dressed.

"Shall I save this recording associated with your account?"

"God, no! Delete it. Wipe it out. Then erase it a third time."

"Confirmed. Copy deleted."

He came out of the holosuite. He couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching him, but then again that could just have been the holosuite scenario.

He went to bed certain that this had been just the thing to take the edge off and he'd be back on his game by tomorrow.

When he went into the Professor's office, the room was thick with Professor Holmes warm musky scent that was so much better than any synthesized stuff.

A quick smile flashed over Professor Holmes face reaching up into those amazingly changeable eyes of his. Really, the Professor had done amazingly well in the genetic lottery. "Mr. Watson, come in. Did you enjoy your time in the holosuite?"

John flushed bright red. "Yeah. It was… thanks. You didn't have to, but thanks. Sorry." He wanted to bolt. He wanted to stay. He sat down and listened to Professor Holmes show off deducing elements of his evening. It was like he'd been there. He said, "Brilliant." That was when he realized that he was completely fucked and not in a good way. Because he didn't want some student in a bathroom. He didn't want some Augment down by the docks. He wanted Professor Holmes and he wanted him as much as he'd wanted anything in his life.

He told himself that the end of the semester was only two months away and then he could make his final move, and no one had moves like John.

Two months left like an eternity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/Caitian  
> Cellenium Chapel is not a thing.  
> http://memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/Augment

**Author's Note:**

> A few things in case it's not clear, both John and Sherlock are active duty personnel in the military in this story. John's a cadet, and that works like this: http://www.west-point.org/parent/wppc_michigan/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=168&Itemid=62
> 
> Sherlock has the rank of Lieutenant Commander and the assignment of teaching university level courses while at the academy. Thus, Professor Holmes is also Lieutenant Commander Holmes. His previous assignment was as a second officer on a Starship. Before that, he was assigned to research facilities. 
> 
> Some extra notes for people not up on their Star Trek.  
> Spoilers for things Trek.
> 
> -In the original 1960s tv show, the episode "Space Seed" introduced the idea of genetically engineered humans, who in the 1990s took over various nation states and fought among themselves (or regular humans) in the Eugenics Wars. Some small group of them (a racially diverse group by Khan Noonian Singh, aka Ricardo Montalban) escaped their overthrow on a sleeper ship and are found by the Enterprise several centuries later. Over multiple tv shows, they are often called Augments. Not, A/O, as I have them here. 
> 
> -Doctor Julian Bashir in the show DS9 is retconnned/revealed to be an Augment because his parents had him modified as a child.
> 
> -The Kelvinverse refers to the timeline established in the current movie timeline in which (spoiler) Vulcan is destroyed in giant explosion and creates a new timeline. Vulcans at this point are an endangered species.
> 
> -I'm depicting a less prejudice free Starfleet / Federation here. But I'm going off the idea that Augmenting humans resulted in creating a super set / sub set of the Human genome. Able to reproduce with Normal/Beta humans, but with a lot of other things going on. Who then, you know, started a war, and then just as prejudices were starting to chill, Khan Cumberbatch (although, he'll have another name in the story) showed up to bomb London and drive a starship into San Francisco. 
> 
> Anyway, on with the story.


End file.
